


The Deal

by Nimravidae



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A bit sad, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, but it has a happy/bittersweet ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That was the deal. He let you call him Jake so long as you let him call you Dave.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> There are POV switches just given off by the ~

It was deal you’d made with him, something silent and ignored. You realized that, once he’d shed the blue Heir gear, once you’d run your fingers through his hair, once he’d closed those brilliantly (Wrongly) colored eyes – he looked like Jake. He didn’t act like him but you didn’t care, that wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted him to feel like him as he arched and writhed under you. You wanted him to beg your name like he did, you wanted him to fit so perfectly in your arms like he used to.

And that was what you got. You got him in your bed, tanned skin contrasting with your white sheets, bucked teeth worrying his lower lip to keep back high whines and stuttered moans. You got him arching, clawing at your back as your hips pounded against his.

He kept his eyes closed, and you knew why. It wasn’t for the benefit of your fantasy, no, it was because he didn’t want to look at you.

It was the deal you’d made.

He let you call him Jake so long as you let him call you Dave.

~

Part of you wished you’d know the real thing. Know what it was like to have Dave’s hot hands sweeping over your flesh instead of Dirks cold ones. Know what it was like to have him croon your name and fill you until you were bursting.

Then you remembered you could never have that, you couldn’t have him over you, your legs hooked over his shoulders as he took you – so all you had was your imagination.

Your imagination and someone else to scream his name at. But that doesn’t mean you don’t wish for something else because outside of that bedroom you are John Egbert and he is Dirk Strider. Your relationship outside of it is a farce, a play put on by the pair of you to hide your affairs with former (and never-will-be) lovers that you have with each other.

You wish it was different though, because you couldn’t help but notice Dirk doesn’t do the “morning after,” or even the “after” at all. He lets you curl against him but doesn’t reciprocate. He doesn’t like to be touched outside of the bedroom, by you or anyone. He’s cold, he’s off-putting, he’s distant and you’re not sure that if he called you John while he was deep inside you, you’d still be dating him.

~

It started months ago, a night you and he spent talking, deep in Roxys old liquor cabinet. She’d given it all away in an attempt to go dry again, you gladly took it off her hands.

You’d intended to be drinking alone, but John joined you, proved himself able to drink as much as you could – a feat which almost could’ve impressed you.

You woke up with him sprawled over your bed, finger-shaped bruises on his hips, arms, and ass. Your teeth marked into his shoulders, his throat – his stomach splashed with the dried remainder of your night before.

He woke up with a hangover and you made him coffee which never got drunk.

He asked what happened and you told him the truth. He said he thinks he called you Dave. You said you knew he did.

But it was okay, because you called him Jake in the drunken heat of the moment. He laughed, said you two should do it again sometime. You asked him with a small smirk if he meant with the right names this time.

He said no.

Your own caffeine was forgotten in favor of his taste on your tongue.

~

You didn’t hate it, no, it was your idea. You loved it, you just wished you loved him.

You wish you loved the way he stayed up until the wee hours of the morning fixing Hal or Sawtooth or one of this other half-finished robots scattered around the living room.

You wish you loved how he’d pretend to hold out a little longer, just to cave under your instant kisses at the back of his neck and joined you in bed.

You wish you loved the way he slowly worked you open, his lips under your jaw murmuring praise as you whimpered and squirmed for his fingers.

You wish you loved those nights where he held you close, hips rolling deep and slow, his breath hot on your neck.

You wish you loved those nights where he whispered, “I love you,” into your skin as he rocked into you.

You wish you didn’t have to lie because you did love those nights. You loved him pressing into you slowly and carefully, afraid you’ll break. You loved his hands on your skin, you loved him pulsating inside of you, you loved the groan he gave as he tensed; gasping for air as you felt his release inside of you. You loved the way he made love to you as if you were his. You loved the way he stayed there, keeping you joined as one until he couldn’t anymore. You loved the way he said those three words.

But you hate how there were always four.

Because every time he breathed it, hot on your ear, “I love you,” he added to the end, “Jake.”

~

You were afraid. You were afraid he would leave you if he knew, if he knew that you wanted him to open his eyes. You wanted to watch his pupils dilate until there was just a sliver of blue left, you wanted to know what that voice sounded like saying your name instead of his.

You wanted him to know how badly you needed him, despite your distaste for his (or anyone’s) constant touches, despite your callous demeanor you wanted him. Not Jake. Him. You wanted him because you’d felt Jake, you’d been inside that body, you’d felt him under your hands but Jake never felt as good as John did.

No, John was something else, he was fresh, he was beauty running under your fingertips, you could map out the differences between him and Jake instead of the similarities because those stood out more now than ever.

The way he pressed back against your fingers, the way he insisted on riding you when you refused to move from your work chair. Jake would pull you back, but John would straddle your lap. He would toss a slender leg over the arm of the chair and grind down to you. He would coax you to bed where Jake would leave you there.

He would run his fingers through your hair and make your coffee and trail his fingers over old strifing scars.

You made a horrible mistake.

You fell in love with John Egbert.

Then you made your second mistake.

~

It was a night like every one before, Dirk wide awake beside you despite the clock flashing numbers so early into the AM, his constant fidgeting keeping you awake beside him.

Eventually you groaned, “What’s got you this time?”

“Nothing,” came the clipped reply. Of course. It was always nothing. You rolled onto your back, having been on your side previously and glanced over to him, his figure blurred from your lack of glasses.

“Well can you quit your nothing so I can get some sleep?”

He sighed in response, making a move to get out of the bed you two had been sharing since the Game ended. “No, I’ll just go work on some shit or something…”

“No,” you interrupted, fingers closing around his arm to tug him down, “how about I tire you out a little?”

If there was any question as to what you meant, it was vanished at the sight of your smirk, one which he returned with the moonlight glinting off his amber eyes. Lips met yours in a slow but heated kiss. He tasted like oranges and coffee, he always did. He told you that you tasted like bad taste in movies.

You returned his kiss, your leg shifting to wrap around his hip and pull him the rest of the way down over you. He lost his balance just slightly and slipped his elbow into your ribs. You broke the kiss with a little grunt of pain, he winced and apologized, laughter clearly on the edge of his voice. You loved when he laughed, but he rarely ever did.

“It’s fine,” you insisted, wriggling your hips under him a little needily, he got the message, smirk ever present on his lips as he leaned in, skating them over the hollow of your throat. “Someone’s feeling horny tonight, babe.” He mumbled, low voice rumbling into you as you pressed your chests together. Babe? He didn’t call you Jake? The thought was erased from your mind as he rolled his hips against yours, the only thing separating the pair of you being the thin shielding of your boxers.

Those were discarded quickly however and you were back on your back, knees spread wide as he settled between them, kissing you hotly and hungrily. His hands were always cold, making your skin jump as he slid them down the inside of your thighs, you were half-hard just from the anticipation, from his kisses and soft touches. You breathed steadily as he pulled away to sit back, watching him through half-lidded eyes. You wondered if he would notice if you kept them open this time, if you watched him. He didn’t seem to notice yet as you tracked his movements with your eyes.

Then again, you wanted him to go back to kissing you, pressing his tongue through your lips and claiming you as his, no matter how pretend that mark was. He didn’t, though, instead he ran his lips along your collarbone, down your chest as his hands found something on your nightstand. The pop of the cap told you what it was.

You flinched away from his slickened finger, yelping quietly, “That’s fucking cold. Your fingers are fucking cold, dude.”

The rolled his eyes and pressed one against you anyway, you whined and squirmed uncomfortable. “Just relax,” he said, the same way he’d said it hundreds of times before. And relax you did, with his calming voice, so low and smooth, washing over you it was hard not to.

You gave a little noise as his finger slipped into you, a louder one with the second and it wasn’t long until you were as close to a mess as you were going to get, three fingers curved inside of you, pressing up in just the right way and place to make stars dance behind your eyes. You cried out for more and he so gladly gave it to you, not letting you whimper for long as he withdrew his fingers.

Legs hooked high around his waist, mouth falling in a silent gasp, you grappled for him, holding him closer to you as the burn of being stretched faded into a need for more. You told him in so many panted, pleaded words what you needed – and he did as he always did, he gave it to you willingly.

You rocked towards him with each slow thrust he gave, voice rising and falling in slow cries as you clung to him for dear life. His breath was in hot pants against your throat, the slow rocking of his hips turning longer, harder as he increased with the same desperation you needed.

You’d lost track of his hands, at least you had until he decided to let them make a reappearance, one, cupping your cheek to turn your face towards his. You didn’t know your eyes were closed until you opened them, finding him watching you just the same. For a moment you thought you would die right there – his eyes, which had always glowed with the brilliantly orange color, burned. They were hazed, hungry and flaming as he let them fall-half lidded, lips pressing against yours.

He never kissed you like that before. Never kissed you so tenderly, so lovingly and pure and as though he was seeing you for the first time – not him.

He didn’t know you’d been seeing him for months.

He parted from you and with his next breath you swore that was the end of you.

“I love you, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
